


we will jump into the fire together

by ozymanthus



Category: Naruto
Genre: F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-10-25 16:57:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10768515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozymanthus/pseuds/ozymanthus
Summary: Madara is on the precipice, and someone sees.(in which even the smallest helping hand can save a life. and maybe the world.)





	1. do the gods hear us better at night?

Tobirama was the last one to leave the Hokage office, walking out with a stack of paperwork under his arm. Everyone had left hours earlier to go to the summer festival, his brother included.

But Konoha was still too young for Tobirama to be comfortable wasting time dithering at food stands and carnival games. He looked at his papers and then out at the village. From the rooftop, he could see a trail of warm yellow formed by streets strung up with lights for the festival. The glowing path winded from the Senju Compound to the Naka River by the Uchiha’s land. Children and young couples would no doubt be by the river bank, floating small paper lanterns down as small prayers.

He sighed. Maybe he could relax for just a bit. Treat himself to some chestnut sweets and admire the view at the Naka. A half an hour wouldn’t be too much time wasted.

 

***

 

Tobirama settled himself onto the sturdy branch of a pine tree on the river bank. This had been a good idea. He had been so caught up in village structuring and diplomatic ties with potential new clans that he hadn’t had time to just breathe these last two months.

Now, he would let himself unwind. His favorite dessert. A full moon. And paper wishes floating down the Naka. The only thing missing was a good cup of tea.

It was then that another figure caught his eye, and Tobirama leaned forward for a closer look. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one with a similar plan. Leaning against the trunk of another pine tree closer by the river was another man. With a bottle of something, probably sake by the shape of it, sitting to his side. And wild, black hair. And a shinobi’s posture—

Tobirama stiffened.

He recognized the cocky spread of those limbs, that posture which was at once nonchalant and at once underpinned by the promise of violence.

Uchiha Madara.

Tobirama’s eyes narrowed. As the head of his clan, he should be leading the festivities at the Uchiha compound. Why was he instead brooding alone under a tree with a bottle of sake?

The man took another swig, his face still directed towards the river.

What was the shinobi staring so intently at? The children?

Tobirama followed Madara’s gaze out, passing floating lanterns and young girls and boys in yukatas before landing on a man and a woman—

Oh. That was his brother and his soon-to-be sister-in-law. Hashirama and Mito must have come to send off a wish of their own. Carefully, they set a soft, pink lantern into the river.

It was nothing particularly interesting. Why was Madara watching them? What was he plotting? Tobirama turned back towards the tree, but the shinobi in question had disappeared.

He frowned, jumping down to where Madara had been sitting. The man had left behind the bottle. Tobirama picked it up and gave it a sniff. Yep. That was sake. And it seemed like Madara had finished it all except for a few last gulps. Tobirama set it back down on the ground, where he then saw a small object he hadn’t noticed before.

There, tucked against the roots of the tree was an unlit lantern of blue paper.

Had Madara come to make a wish as well? What kind?

Tobirama examined the fold of the papers, expecting to find a sentence scrawled in messy brushwork.

Instead, in the corner, written in skinny neat strokes was a single kanji character: 家

Family.


	2. if so, bring back those summer dreams

Tobirama wasn’t sure why he had taken the paper lantern home with him that night, but he did, and it had sat quietly in the bottom drawer of his desk for the last week. Something about that night had stayed with him, and while he never told anyone about whatever this discovery was, he would sometimes open up the drawer to examine the lantern Madara had left behind.

In the light of day, Tobirama was able to see that the paper wasn’t any ordinary blue paper. It was a rich, dark navy—Tobirama’s favorite color in fact—with silver threads running through it. And the lantern itself had been carefully and precisely folded. It was undoubtedly a beautiful thing, a piece of origami that Madara must have put time and thought into.

But why?

The Madara that had folded this lantern wasn’t the Madara that Tobirama was familiar with. He had first met the Uchiha clan head as a child, and since then, his impression had always been that Madara was an emotional, wrathful man. He respected how fiercely the man loved his brother and his clan, but his inclination towards hatred made him a constant potential threat to Konoha, a man that couldn’t be trusted.

Yet, this Madara was a meticulous man. And a man who was lonely and in grief.

It was displacing to be privy to this display of vulnerability.

He looked down at Madara’s brushwork and let his thumb run over the character for family. Tobirama had initially assumed the lantern was for Izuna, but perhaps it meant more than that. If the man had been drinking sake by himself instead of celebrating the festival with his clan members, perhaps he had lost not just his brother but his ties with the Uchiha as well.

And then there was the way he had been watching Hashirama and Mito.

Tobirama sighed. He should be focused on arranging Hashirama’s upcoming trip to visit the Hyuga right now, not dwelling on Uchiha Madara. But then again, Konoha’s safety and future was dependent on Madara’s loyalty. If the clan leader was losing his loyalty, it would be a pressing issue that needed to be resolved immediately.  

He placed the lantern back into the drawer and closed it. This was a matter that needed to be looked into.

 

***

 

“What do you mean you want to send Madara to negotiate with the Hyuga?” Tobirama said, his arms crossed. “He’s hardly the diplomatic type.”

Hashirama just gave him an eye crinkle and a small smile. “You’re the one who’s always saying I make concessions too easily. So I thought you’d appreciate Madara’s approach instead for once.”

“We’re more likely to end up going to war with the Hyuga then convince them to join Konoha with Madara as our emissary.”

“Which is why you’ll be going as well, brother. You always help me when you think I’m being too soft. Do the opposite for Madara.”

“Nii-san,” Tobirama warned.

“Tobirama,” Hashirama said, his voice suddenly dropping its cheerful quality and now soft and serious. “Madara is a brother to me, and the reason why Konoha could be established in the first place. But you must have noticed, by now... how Madara’s position in the Uchiha has changed. This is an important opportunity for us in many ways. The Hyuga is a respected and valuable clan, and it’s a chance to show Madara and the Uchiha how much Konoha trusts and needs him. But I need you to be there with him to make sure everything goes well.”

Tobirama grimaced. “Why don’t you go with him instead then?”

“You… you already know the answer to that. This needs to be Madara's achievement for Konoha. If I go...” Hashirama trailed off.

Tobirama looked down. He knew exactly what Hashirama had left unsaid. No matter how much his brother insisted that Madara was his equal, and no matter how much his brother meant it, it could never be true. The people of Konoha adored Hashirama, loved him in a way they never would with Madara. And if his brother went on this trip, any efforts on Madara’s part would be overshadowed.

“Please,” Hashirama whispered. “Tobirama…”

His eyebrows furrowed, mouth falling into a grim line. A week before, he would have said no and insisted that Hashirama carry out this visit.

But Tobirama now knew Hashirama was right. He had seen it for himself on the night of the summer festival. Madara _was_ becoming distanced from his own clansmen, not to mention the village. Any chance to bring Madara back into the fold and increase his standing among Konoha would be an important one.

“Fine.”


	3. when the trees still talked

“The visit will be short but essential to opening diplomatic talks with the Hyuga. We’ll be leaving two Tuesdays from now with a small escort group. We’ll arrive Friday and be back the next Wednesday,” Tobirama said, one finger tracing the path on a map.

“Drop the escort group. I can make it there in a day on my own,” Madara said.

“This isn’t a one-man mission to assassinate someone. You’re representing Konoha. You can’t show up looking like you’ve trampled across half the continent.”

Madara shot him a dirty look, before looking back down to study the map again.

Seeing the Uchiha deep in thought, Tobirama said nothing and leaned back to enjoy the view from Madara’s porch.

He had used discussing the trip as an excuse to drop by unannounced, but Tobirama was surprised the Uchiha clan leader had actually let him into his home. It was his first time being here and a rare opportunity to gain insight into Madara's current situation. Tobirama had been careful to note the sparse walls and lack of decorations in the hallways, and how the home was so quiet that Tobirama suspected they were the only two here.

At that thought, he frowned. It was a bit _too_ quiet, especially for a clan leader’s home.

Other Senju were always going in and out of Hashirama’s house, and at the least, it was always overrun with village kids coming to play on their lands. In comparison, Madara’s home was tucked into a corner of the Uchiha compound, at the top of a slight slope with stairs leading the way up. The location meant peace and quiet, but also isolation.

Was Madara alone here all the time? To Tobirama’s knowledge, he had no lover, no close friend besides Hashirama, and no family left. Were there even servants in this house?

“Fine. I understand. Tuesday morning. We’ll meet by the gates. If we’re done, you can leave.” Madara finally looked up from the map, and Tobirama saw a momentary flash of disgust in the man’s eyes as their gazes met.

“We only discussed the route. We still need to go over diplomatic approaches for the visit.”

Madara snapped. “I can do that myself.”

“We need to have a few plans thoroughly prepared ahead of time. I’ve met with the Hyuga before, and it would be best to use all the information we have,” Tobirama said.

“...” Madara gritted his teeth. “Not right now. I have somewhere I need to be this afternoon. And you’re the one who stopped by without notice.”

“Then, I'll come back later tonight.” Tobirama nodded and stood up to leave.

“Back here?” Madara’s lips twitched in clear disapproval.

“It’s a beautiful home,” Tobirama said, and Madara’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.

It wasn’t a lie. Despite being austere, Madara’s home was still elegant, and his garden, especially, was a thing of beauty. The lake of koi. The carefully arranged rocks and grass hills. The Japanese pine and maple trees in the front, and the pavilion in the back. It was much preferable to Hashirama’s overuse of wooden sculptures as garden decorations. Tobirama could easily imagine spending hours here, enjoying a cup of tea or finishing paperwork or playing a long game of shogi after dinner.

But as beautiful as everything was, being constantly alone in this empty house was a troubling sign. It was too lonely even for Tobirama, a man who thrived on solitude. The truth was that he wanted to visit again and make further observations, see if there would be anyone else here next time. 

“The Senju compound is always a mess. Too loud with kids running around. Your place is much quieter. It’s easier to think here,” he finally said in a partial truth.

“... fine.” Madara gritted out, finally relenting. “Come after dinner.”

 

***

 

Tobirama arrived a bit after eight with a box of sweets in tow.

“I brought dessert. Hasetsu-style mochi,” He said when Madara slid open the door. “I apologize for suddenly stopping by earlier.”

“I don’t care. Let’s just get this meeting over with.” Madara said before leading him to a room in the back.

It was a lot cleaner than Tobirama had expected. He had thought Madara’s study would be like Hashirama’s, for some reason. Organized chaos, his brother called it. Instead, the office was as sparse as the rest of the house.

“Madara.” The door slid open, and an old woman peeked her head in. “Should I prepare some tea for you and your guest?”

The Uchiha leader immediately rose and went to her side, his eyes softening in a way he had never seen before. “Don’t worry. I’ll fetch the tea. Go and rest.”

The elderly woman gave Madara a stern look.

“You worry too much. Didn’t you hear the doctor say I’m fine?” She said. “And more importantly, don’t think, I didn’t hear how rude you were earlier. You probably weren’t even going to offer him tea, were you? That’s why no one ever visits you.”

She looked in Tobirama’s direction. “Young man, what’s your name?”

“Senju Tobirama,” he said, quickly standing up as well to be polite.

“I’m so glad you came by. No one ever visits, so I always worry about him.” The grandmother gave a sad smile. “I heard you brought sweets.”

“Yes. It’s Hasetsu-style mochi. I made it myself,” Tobirama said, holding up the lacquered box he had brought with him.

“What a polite guest. And it’s so rare to meet a young man who cooks. Madara tries, but it’s unbelievable how a man so talented as a shinobi could be so bad in the kitchen.” The obaa-san gave Madara a fond, teasing look, and Tobirama observed a flush of red on the Uchiha’s face. “What kind of filling?”

“There’s chestnut and sweet soybean paste.” He said.

“That’s perfect. Nutty and not too sweet. Your mother must have been from the Kansai region. You boys sit back down, and I’ll boil some tea.” She took the box and headed off to the kitchen.

“Is she—” Tobirama started.

“It’s none of your business,” Madara snapped.

“Madara!” A stern rebuke could be heard immediately. For an old woman, she had quite the hearing.

Madara grimaced. “She was my caretaker when I was little,” he finally spat out.

“And stop asking questions,” he added angrily in a hushed whisper.

 

***

 

Tobirama made his way back home with a lightness in his chest. He had left the box and the remaining sweets with Chiyo obaa-san, and she’d invited him to return and try some of the Uchiha clan’s traditional desserts sometime soon.

As he slid open the front door, he recalled the way Madara had looked at Chiyo obaa-san. And then the sight of Madara’s angry and embarrassed face. The Uchiha clan leader had looked so... _human._ Was this the Madara that Hashirama remembered? 

“Brother?”

Tobirama looked up to see Hashirama in the hallway.

“You look... amused. Did something happen?”

“Ah,” Tobirama hadn’t even realized. Looking at his brother’s curious face, he momentarily considered telling him about the night.

But perhaps not. Nothing had really happened after all.

“It’s nothing.”

“Oh, okay. So did the talk with Madara go well?”

“Mmm... not bad. Better than expected, at least."


	4. and we buried our hopes six feet under

Tobirama had been at the Hokage office since Tuesday and only now, on Sunday at dawn, was he leaving.

He had finished placing the last orders of gifts for the Hyuga and drafting the Sarutobi and Shimura clan agreements, but the work never ended. Delegates from Uzushiogakure would arrive two Sundays from now for Hashirama and Mito’s wedding preparations. And more importantly, the final conference with the Fire feudal lords was in three months. Tobirama was in a rush trying to finalize wedding arrangements, schedule village meetings with clan heads, and set up elections for Hokage.

If it wasn’t for this appointment with the Senju family doctor, he would still be working at the office.

“Tobirama-chan,” Nanase called when he entered her clinic. “I’m back here!”

“Tobi-chan’s here?” He heard another voice ask.

He frowned at the suffix. It looked like he’d have to deal with Chihiro this morning as well. Nanase was already in her mid-thirties, but when she and her daughter were together, Tobirama always struggled to remember that he wasn’t the oldest one in the room.

“Tobi-chan!” Chihiro lept up to hug him as soon as he opened the door, and he swiftly stepped to the side, letting her crash face first into the wall.

“So… what’s up, kid?” Nanase was barefoot and grinding deer antler in a stone mortar. “You sick or something? You do look pretty shitty today.”

“I haven’t slept for the last five days,” he glared at her.

“Is Tobi-chan sick?” Chihiro pouted up at him. The little girl had quickly recovered and was now clinging to his pant leg.

“No, I’m here for someone else today,” He pulled out a folder. “I want you to look at someone’s condition for me.”

Nanase took the files. “Chihiro, take over the rest for me. Don’t forget, counterclockwise.” She opened the folder and squinted. “Uchiha Chiyo? You’re having me check up on an Uchiha?”

“She had a stay with her doctor this month. He said she’s better, but I just wanted to make sure there wasn’t something he missed,” Tobirama said, sitting down on the tatami. When he had gone to pick up the dessert box on Monday, Chiyo had been paler than the first time they’d met. Her chakra had been weak even for a civilian, and she’d had a coughing fit that she’d tried to pin on the morning breeze even though it was the middle of August.

It had reminded Tobirama exactly of how his mother’s own sickness had started.

“I didn’t know you were friends with any Uchihas,”

“She’s Madara’s caretaker. I’ve run into her a few times.”

“Madara?” Nanase raised an eyebrow. “You mean the frowny-face that hates your guts?”

A vein in Tobirama’s forehead twitched. “Could you just check over her medical files?”

“Mmm… how did you get these anyway? You steal them?” Nanase asked.

Tobirama was silent, arms crossed gruffly.

“Fine, don’t answer. Anyways, Touka will be excited to see you finally displaying interest towards a girl. Even if she’s—” Nanase looked at the medical profile. “—in her fifties. Well, love is love—”

“Nanase!” He finally barked, and Chihiro giggled.

“Okay okay Tobi-chan,” Nanase said before seriously beginning to read the files.

 

***

 

Tobirama walked down the streets of Konoha, ears still ringing with Nanase’s words.

_“The doctor assumed pneumonia, but given the amount of Yin build up and her weak chakra, pneumonia is probably a red herring.” Nanase said._

_“A red herring? Then... what’s the actual cause?”_

_“You’d have to bring her in for me to be sure, but—” Nanase looked at him, eyes apologetic, and immediately, Tobirama had known. “—but it’s probably lung cancer.”_

He hadn’t needed Nanase to explain any further. He knew exactly what lung cancer did to the body. Fluid buildup to the point of choking. The bloody coughs. The fatigue. He had seen everything firsthand before, had felt his mother’s chakra slowly fading and fading till Tobirama—unable to bear it no longer—had stopped infusing chakra so he didn’t have to sense his mother dying right before him.

_“It’s just a preliminary guess, though. And even if I’m right, her cancer might still be in its early stages,” Nanase added. “It doesn’t have to be like it was with your mother, Tobirama-chan.”_

Tobirama clenched his fists. It wasn’t supposed to be anything serious. When he had seen Chiyo cough, it had nagged at him, unearthed memories he’d buried long ago, but he had brought her medical files to Nanase on a whim, a casual check just to be sure.

He should tell Chiyo obaa-san as soon as possible, or at least tell Madara to take her to see Nanase tomorrow and—

“Tobirama-chan!”

There in the streets was Chiyo herself and standing next to her was Madara. The Uchiha had a load of groceries in both hands and was stubbornly keeping his gaze averted from Tobirama.

_“You mean the frowny-face that hates your guts?”_

He suddenly remembered Nanase’s words, remembered the flash of disgust in Madara’s eyes last week, and everything he’d been prepared to say stopped in his throat. Chiyo obaa-san was likely the last person whom Madara loved, and Tobirama was the last person whom Madara would trust. How would the Uchiha react to what he had to say?

“Are you okay, Tobirama-chan?” Chiyo gave him a lookover. “You look awfully tired.”

Tobirama looked at the old woman who was smiling up at him. He thought of the last time he’d seen his mother—a weak figure sweating on a futon, blood-soaked rags, the stale stench of sickness in the air. There was a painful lurch in his chest. “I haven’t slept this past week… was caught up with village work,” he said weakly as a wave of exhaustion began to hit him.

“Well, then. Why don’t you come join us for a good homemade breakfast? Get some of your strength back,” Chiyo reached for his hand, and surprisingly, Tobirama let her take it.

“Obaa-chan!” He faintly registered the sound of Madara yelling.

“Madara, you said you’d do anything I wanted today.”

The sound of scoldings fell into the backdrop, and as Tobirama simply let himself be tugged along by the warmth of Chiyo’s hand, he felt some part of him, hidden away a long time ago, begin to unravel.

Years ago, he'd been helpless, unable to do anything but stand and watch as the disease took his mother. But this time it would be different. This time, some way or another, Tobirama would save Uchiha Chiyo.


	5. time sweetens the old songs

_“Tobirama-chan. Can you feel him?”  His mother pressed his hand into the underside of her round stomach._

_“I can feel him! …. but okaa-san, it might be a girl.”_

_“That’s true. Would you prefer a boy or a girl?”_

_“Mm…. I’m not sure.”_

_“Why not?”_

_“If it’s a girl, she won’t have to fight. But if it’s a boy, he could become a strong shinobi.” Tobirama-chan looked up to see his mom looking solemnly at him. His hand rose to her cheek. “You look sad, okaa-san.”_

_His mother grabbed his hand and kissed it. “No, Tobirama-chan. I’m not sad.”_

_“You sure?” His eyes furrowed in suspicion._

_“… not sad. Just amazed what a smart and strong little boy you are.”_

_“Hmph.” Tobirama looked away as a flush rose on his cheeks._

_“And I’m sure you and Hashirama and Itama and otou-san will protect your sibling no matter if it’s a baby brother or a baby sister.”_

_Tobirama tucked his head into his mother’s neck._

_“And you know what? Girls can fight too.”_

_“Hmm?”_

_“Mhmm. Touka’s training to be a shinobi isn’t she? And you know I was a pretty strong shinobi in my day too.”_

_“Really?”_

_“Yep, they called me the white wolf.”_

_“Why’d you stop?”_

_“Well, I married your father who promised to protect me. And then I had three sons who are also growing up to be strong shinobi.”_

_Tobirama murmured something against his mother’s shirt._

_“What’d you say, Tobirama?”_

_“Hashirama and Itama and I are also going to protect you, okaa-san.”_

_His mother laughed, a sound that was sweet but hearty at the same time. “I’m sure you guys will, Tobirama-chan. And as your okaa-san, I’m going to protect you guys too. That’s what family does.” She pressed a kiss to Tobirama’s hair and held him tighter._

 

“Tobirama!” A hand on his shoulder shook him awake, and Tobirama snapped up. He looked around and found himself in a room of tatami and shoji screens. He was in the Uchiha residence.

“Breakfast is ready,” Madara said brusquely. “You passed out right when we— wait, are you crying?”

Tobirama touched a hand to his eyes, and tears wetted his fingers.

Madara looked taken aback. “W-what…. Were you dreaming about something?”

“My mother…. I dreamt about my mother,” he said without thinking. When he realized what he had divulged, Tobirama jolted. Madara was staring at him in shock, as surprised by the confession as Tobirama was. “I— I meant…”

“Just come to breakfast.” Madara managed to say before quickly turning on his heels and escaping the room.

Left alone, Tobirama pressed a hand to his face and found his hair slightly matted with sweat. _What was happening to him?_ To fall asleep in Madara’s home was one thing. But to dream about his mother as well? And he’d told _Madara_ of all people about it.

The last time he had dreamt about okaa-san was over a decade ago, back on the night Itama had died. Thinking about it made his heart clench painfully. He hadn’t thought about Itama or Kawarama or okaa-san for years. There was no point dwelling on an irreversible past. That was a lesson he’d learned when his mother had passed away. For a shinobi, there was only the present, and if one was lucky enough, maybe the future as well.

“Tobirama-chan?” Chiyo was by the door. “Madara said you fell asleep.”

“Yes, just for a bit. Sorry for making you wait.” Tobirama stood up.

“No worries. You must be overworked to fall asleep like that.” She flashed him a gentle smile and led him to the living room.  

A low table piled with individual portions of fish, soup, and steaming rice sat waiting. Chiyo knelt down next to Madara and gestured for Tobirama to sit in the seat across from him.

“Dig in. I’m sure both you and Madara are starving by now.”

“Itadakimasu,” they both said, and Tobirama began to eat.

 

***

 

When Madara had woken up, he had been expecting a leisurely Sunday. It was obaa-chan’s first full weekend back from the doctor’s, and he had made himself promise to do whatever she wanted. Walk through the gardens. Dinner at her favorite restaurant. Even bring out the koto if she asked. For a day, he’d forget about Konoha and the Uchiha and the rest of his worries and simply pass the day quietly with her.

Instead, he’d ended up with Senju Tobirama— _murderer, Izuna’s murderer_ , a voice whispers—passed out on his floor. And now, they were having breakfast together in _his_ living room.

“Try some of the inari sushi,” Chiyo said, placing a piece on one of Tobirama’s side dish plates. “It’s Madara’s favorite.”

Madara almost pouted before obaa-san continued to place two in his bowl with a knowing smile. He felt Tobirama’s gaze follow Chiyo’s chopsticks, and Madara—irritated at being watched—glanced up only to freeze in shock.

Senju Tobirama was _smiling_.

Repeat.

 _Senju Tobirama_ was smiling.

The ice block never smiled. He hadn’t smiled during the Senju-Uchiha alliance. Or when Konoha was first established. He probably didn’t smile on his birthdays, and he probably wouldn’t even smile on his wedding day.

The smile disappeared quickly, and for a moment, Madara wondered if he’d imagined the whole thing.

 _What was wrong with Hashirama’s brother today?_ He wondered, stabbing at a bite of mackerel. _First falling asleep and crying in my study, now smiling in my living room._

Madara chanced another look at Tobirama. The man’s focus was back downwards towards his food, but a thoughtful look remained in his eyes. Even with the smile gone, the Senju had yet to return to his usual half-grimace, half-frown.

 _He looks softer today_ , Madara noted. The man’s face was usually all stern lines and sharp angles, but today, something was different.

_“... I dreamt about my mother,” Tobirama murmured quietly._

Hashirama had never mentioned his mother to him, and Madara had always assumed she had died young in childbirth like his own. He didn’t know how to process Tobirama’s sudden admission. Was he supposed to feel _pity_ or…. or _sympathy_ for the man who had killed Izuna?

_“The Uchiha are unpredictable.”_

_“The greater their hate, the stronger their Visual Prowess….”_

_“Brother, what are you hesitating for? Just kill him.”_

Madara flinched imperceptibly at the memory of Tobirama’s words. His fingers tightened around his chopsticks. _No_ , Tobirama wasn’t a man who deserved sympathy. He was a man whom Madara needed to guard the Uchiha against, a threat that no one saw coming except for him.

Madara couldn’t waver again. No matter how many years passed, no matter what happened, he would keep his last promise to Izuna. And that meant Madara needed to remember: _Senju Tobirama was not to be trusted._


	6. and I was defeated by a single drop of honey

Madara doesn’t sleep well at night. Even when he’s asleep, he’s plagued by his dreams. Dreams of him being too late and Izuna being cut down. Dreams of the Uchiha clan slowly being suffocated.

But on some nights, if he’s lucky, he dreams a different kind of dreams. One where Konoha is built, and Izuna is alive to see it, and if he is fanciful enough, Hashirama is by his side, head on his shoulder, mouth on his neck. Those dreams are rare and in between, and even when they do occur, they've begun to leave a bitter taste in his mouth when he wakes up.

Bitter because Izuna is dead and Konoha shuns him and Hashirama will soon be married to Uzumaki Mito ( _who is beautiful and beloved and strong but still soft with a woman’s curves and everything Madara is not._ )

He wonders what he would do if it wasn’t for Chiyo. Chiyo who is still recovering from pneumonia and whom he _has to take better care of_. Chiyo who is probably the last person he has left.

If she was gone, Madara thinks he’d go crazy the way things are. Arguing with his clan members in the day. Dinner ~~with Chiyo~~ alone at night. Hashirama will be Hokage soon (no matter what the man says because Tobirama is pulling the strings), and (if Tobirama is pulling the strings) things will no doubt get worse.

So at night, Madara shifts and tosses and turns. And when he wakes up, a desperate hope hangs to him. He hopes that today the Uchiha will listen to him and that today he will see Hashirama but not Mito.

He always wakes up hoping, but the days pass, and he begins to wake up thinking himself a fool.

 

***

 

Between glances of his notes, Tobirama watched casually as his brother and Madara sparred on the Senju’s training grounds. Unarmed, their figures were a blur, bodies flitting across the grass, dodging each other’s hits before coming to blows mid-air. Hashimara wore his usual wide, bright grin, and even Madara, with a slight upturn to his lips, looked pleased for once.

It had been good to suggest to his brother a sparring match with Madara this morning. The man’s mood always seemed to improve when he was with Hashirama, and Tobirama needed the Uchiha in as amiable a mood as possible before they set off for the Hyuga visit tomorrow.

Soft steps on the wood alerted him to Mito’s presence. She approached Tobirama, coming to a stop besides him on the patio. “How long have they been sparring for?”

“A bit more than an hour.”

“Mito!” Hashirama called as soon as he noticed her arrival. The Senju abandoned the match with Madara and ran over, smile even wider than before. “You came to watch?”

“I came to move more things in.” The kunoichi answered.

“I’ll help!” Hashirama immediately offered. “It’ll be our room soon, after all.”

Watching his brother beam at his soon-to-be wife like an eager child, Tobirama wondered how Hashirama had managed to secure the woman’s hand in the first place. Uzumaki Mito was undoubtedly a beauty, one with an air of steely elegance. She was gifted with both strength and a sharp mind, dignity and grace.

He eyed his brother. Hashirama currently had dirt on his chin, and he wasn’t even aware of it.

“Here, Tobirama, you spar with Madara for me,” his brother said.

“Do I look like I’m dressed for sparring?” He had been lounging in a thin summer yukata, held together only by a loosely tied obi.

“Then tell him we’ll finish some other time,” Hashirama said without even turning to look at him. His brother seemed to only have eyes for Mito at the moment.

“Tobirama will take care of it. Show me where your things are.” He gestured for Mito to lead the way.

Left behind, Tobirama glanced at Madara. The Uchiha hadn’t approached the patio and was still out standing where the two had been sparring. He sighed and flickered out to meet him.

“He’s leaving?” Madara asked when Tobirama appeared. He watched the couple walking along the patio with a stony gaze. “Because she arrived?”

“They’re moving in her belongings before the wedding. He’s going to help.”

“I… I see… the wedding…” Madara’s face darkened, and ever-so-slightly, the Uchiha begin to retreat within himself. The loose muscles and carefree air to his stance—the hard-earned result of an hour of sparring with Hashirama—disappeared. An unreadable mask emerged on his face. “I’ll just go back then.”

 _Back where?_ Tobirama thought as he watched the man walk off into the distance. _Back to that empty house of yours with just you and Chiyo obaa-san?_

Madara’s frame was broad and toned from years of fighting, but turned away from Tobirama and alone on the Senju lands, the outline looked small and… a bit lonely. _Like back on that night of the summer festival._

“Wait,” Tobirama called.

The figure came to a standstill.

“The two of us can spar instead,” Internally, Tobirama frowned. _This is_ _for Hashirama, for Konoha, for successful negotiations with the Hyuga_ , he told himself. “...until Hashirama comes back.”

Madara turned, eyebrows furrowed and clearly unsure of the offer. Tobirama walked out to where he was standing.

“Just for a bit. Unless you’re too tired.”

Madara blinked, and Tobirama wondered if he hadn’t heard what he’d said.

Then, one moment, the Uchiha was standing before him, and a blink later, he was launching a kick at Tobirama’s face.

***

Tobirama had never fought Madara before. On the battlefield, it had always been Hashirama facing Madara, him facing Izuna.

Fighting against the older Uchiha for the first time, he noted that Madara’s moves and reflexes were just as fast as the younger’s but backed with a strength that Izuna had lacked. The man moved with an easy, lethal viciousness, and Tobirama was constantly on his toes, ducking and dancing. Hashirama preferred to connect blows rather than dodge, but Tobirama had never adopted his brother’s blunt fighting-style. He preferred to first observe then reciprocate.

Madara’s fist swung at him, and Tobirama tilted his head, letting it skim past his ear. The Uchiha’s other hand came up from below, and reacting just in time, Tobirama pushed chakra to his feet and leaped backwards, barely escaping the attack. The two slid across the ground to face each other, a few meters apart.

A smirk crossed Madara’s face. “You’ve been dodging the last half-hour. You plan on attacking anytime soon?”

Tobirama shrugged. A light sheen of sweat had formed, and he could feel it drip from his neck and down to his collarbone. Fighting in a yukata was a pain. “You plan on landing a hit?”

Madara leaped forward again, and the two were back at their dance. The Uchiha attacked, and the Senju dodged.

“Madara! Tobirama!” A distant call suddenly came. Both men glanced at the source of the sound. Hashirama had returned and was standing at the patio, one arm around Mito’s shoulder.

Tobirama watched Madara imperceptibly stiffen before flinging another kick at him. He dodged with ease.

Madara’s leg swung by, and Tobirama hesitated. _The speed of that kick was different._

He avoided another attack and paused. _Something was wrong_. Madara’s movements were suddenly slower and more sloppy than before. He glanced at the Uchiha’s face. The man’s gaze wasn’t even on Tobirama.

He frowned. It was just like the first time when Hashirama had left with Mito and Madara had withdrawn into himself.

 _Where have you gone? Come back and fight._ Tobirama dodged another series of half-hearted blows.

 _This wouldn’t do_.

Releasing a burst of chakra, he took charge, going on the offense for the first time since they began sparring. Madara’s eyes widened, dodging a jab and a leg sweep before a fist from Tobirama connected with the man’s stomach.

The Uchiha was flung back onto the ground, and Tobirama snatched the chance to land what would be a final blow on the battlefield. The man didn't even fight back. He straddled Madara’s torso, his hand stopped right above the Uchiha’s neck.

“You lost focus just now,” Tobirama asked. “What happened?”

Madara’s eyes widened, and he looked away.

“You win,” He snarled, avoiding the question. “Now get off of me.”

“Brother!” Hashirama called. “That was impressive.”

“No.” He said, pulling the Uchiha up. “Madara went easy on me.” _I_ _t was more like he suddenly decided to give up._

“Mm? He never goes easy on me.” Hashirama pouted. “Hey, Madara. Don’t tell me you’re giving Tobirama special treatment.”

“Of course not!” The Uchiha scowled before glancing in Tobirama’s direction. “And you, put on a shirt, will you?”

Tobirama looked down. His obi was gone, and his yukata was hanging wide open, exposing his bare chest. He slipped off the yukata and used it to wipe the sweat off his skin.

“I said put on a shirt not take it off!” Madara snapped.

“Hm. Let me go fetch another robe then.”

 

***

 

When Tobirama returned to the garden after finishing changing, Madara was gone, leaving only Hashirama and Mito whispering quietly on the patio. The two were clearly lost in their own little world, and watching the way Mito leaned into his brother’s embrace, Tobirama couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy at the intimacy.

 _What was it like to be so clearly in love?_ _To have someone who meant the world to you?_

Tobirama had his brother and the Senju and now, he had Konoha. But a wife was different. A wife promised warmth and children and, in an ideal world, a unique, unparalleled level of connection and understanding.

“Madara went home already?” He finally asked, interrupting the moment.

Hashirama looked up, only just registering his presence. “I asked him to stay for dinner, but he said he wanted to have his last meal at home since you guys are leaving tomorrow.”

Tobirama nodded. That made sense. Madara was probably thinking of Chiyo obaa-san.

 _He had_ _also seemed uncomfortable around Hashirama and Mito._ Tobirama made a note to look into that later.

However, first, there was the matter of Chiyo's health. He needed to take advantage of Madara’s trip to have Nanase check her condition in person.

“Hashirama.”

“Mm?”

“I need you to do something while I’m gone.”


	7. you and i counted the number of cherry blossoms

They had made good time, arriving in the capital before sunset. Tonight, Tobirama would pick up the gifts they had ordered for the Hyuga, and they would set off from the city on horseback and wagon next morning.

“You three can first rest here. The ryokan will also serve dinner,” Tobirama said to the rest of the escorts at the gates of their inn. “Madara-san and I need to pick up orders downtown and check on the horses we’ll be taking for the rest of the way.”

When they were alone, Madara turned to him with a frown. “Why do I have to come with you?”

“You’ll be presenting them, so we need to go over each of the gifts and who they’re for. Might as well save some time and do it as we pick them up,” Tobirama said as they started walking towards the main street.

Around them, the streets of the capital were bustling. Vendors sold porcelain vases and silk bedding, heads of cabbage and boxes of mackerel on ice. Wagons stocked full of crated goods wheeled down the street, followed by men shouldering sacks of rice. From his pocket, Tobirama pulled out a list of shops.

“We’re going to the Sendaikyu bookstore first. Even though the Hyuga clan is infamous for the Byakugan, their members are also well known for having an appreciation for the arts,” he said. “The current leader, Hyuga Hideshi, is a particular fan of the classics. I learned a month ago that this store in the capital had acquired an original copy of a work by Urashima Taru. She’s a famous writer and poet from the Land of Cloud.”

“The Tale of Isshin?”

Tobirama stilled mid-step. “How did you know?”

“That’s her most famous piece. If you were going to gift a work by Urashima Taru, it was probably going to be that one,” Madara replied. 

“It’s a bit overrated, though. Her magnum opus is _The Harvest of Winter,_ in my opinion.” He added.

“You’re familiar with Urashima Taru?” Tobirama asked, a single eyebrow arched.

“What, you thought I was illiterate or something?” Madara scowled.

With Madara being the clan leader’s son, Tobirama knew he would have been taught to read at the least. However, he hadn’t expected the man to take pleasure in literature, let alone be well-versed in the classics. When Tobirama was younger, he had once tried to convince Hashirama to read the classic, _Tale of the Bamboo Cutter_. It was a children’s story, and yet the twelve year old had ended up falling asleep before even finishing a third of it.

“A shinobi who enjoys the classics is rare,” Tobirama said slowly, still processing this new information. “If you aren't busy, I’d like to discuss The Harvest of Winter with you after I read it. It has been on my list for awhile, but I haven’t had the time or incentive to pick it up.”

Madara’s eyes widened, and he quickly looked away. “I don’t know if I have the time.”

It was a lie, and both of them knew it.

“Well, nonetheless, I’ll read it once we get back. If you ever do find some time, let me know,” Tobirama said. “Like I said, a shinobi who enjoys the classics is rare. It’d be nice to have someone to discuss them with.”

The Uchiha was silent, and Tobirama took it as a signal to move on. “We’re headed to the jeweler next.”

The two picked up jade bracelets and hairpins for Hideshi’s wife and daughters, a box of red ginseng for Hideshi’s mother and the Hyuga elders, and enough pomegranates, mangosteens, and dragon fruit to feed the entire clan.

“If there’s anything else, you’ll need another Shadow Clone,” Madara said.  

“Just one more stop.” Tobirama led them to another store. Swatches of cloth in every imaginable color hung on the walls. 

“Let me guess, bolts of fine silk for the esteemed Hyuga?”

“Almost right,” Tobirama said.

An elderly man was in the back measuring out a spread of linen.

“I’m here to pick up an order from Konoha.” 

“Ah,” the man looked up. “Yes, yes. Our first order for the shinobi village. It was an honor. Five bolts of river silk, and a complete male kimono set. I’ll be right back”

“You ordered yourself a kimono?” Madara asked. 

“I ordered you a kimono.”

“Me?” Madara’s eyes glinted. “I don’t need your _charity_.”

“It’s not charity,” Tobirama said as the man left to fetch the order. “You aren’t going as a mere shinobi. You’re acting as Konoha’s representative, and more importantly, you’re meeting the Hyuga. To have them join would be a major step forward for the village. And given how the Hyuga can be, it’s especially crucial that you’re dressed for the part, especially at the welcome feast. Shinobi wear won’t cut it.”

“How do you even know my size?” Madara growled.

Tobirama raised a single eyebrow, and the Uchiha let out a hiss in realization.

“Chiyo obaa-san,” he grimaced. “When I get back, I’m going to need to talk to her about meddling. Two weeks, and she’s telling a goddamn Senju what my pant size is.”

The smallest of smiles graced Tobirama’s lips. “I think knowing Chiyo obaa-san, that’ll be a harder task than you make it out to be.”

“Tobirama!” The Uchiha snarled.

“Okay, here’s your order.”

The store owner lifted a chest onto the table, followed by a folded kimono set. The kimono’s inner garment was a rich navy blue with silver patterning, the hakama a deep charcoal, and the outer coat a dark black-blue.  

The Uchiha had quieted at the sight of it, and Tobirama watched as he traced the silver threads running through the navy. “What do you think?”

Madara gave him a quick glance before looking away.

“It’ll work.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay. Things suddenly came up. :( 
> 
> this is short but i'll be updating the next one SUPER SOON. PROMISE.


	8. but when winter came, we cut the trees down anyway

By the time they left the tailor, the sun had already set, and the moon was just breaching the sky. Yet, people were still out and about. Lanterns hung within the shops, and their golden glow spilled onto the streets.  

Instead of heading back to the inn, Tobirama led them to a pavilion.

“I thought we got everything?”

“My clone will go back to drop off the goods, but we’re having dinner first,” Tobirama said, stepping into the restaurant. “We still need to stop by and see the horses.”

Madara paused behind him, and Tobirama wondered if the man was about to protest. He harbored no illusions about Madara's true feelings towards him, and Tobirama's own opinion of the Uchiha was less than favorable. The man may be close friends with Hashirama, but Madara and him shared no such relationship.

Still, it was late, and they needed to eat. A civil meal together wasn’t too much to ask. They’d managed to keep interactions civil for the last week already. “By now, the inn is no longer serving dinner,” he explained. “Hisoka and them will already have eaten without us.”

Madara nodded, a grimace appearing on his face, and followed him in.

The pavilion was crowded with tables of eager patrons, and Tobirama brought them up to the top floor, a space with no walls and open-seating which afforded them a view of the city and the nearby Shinano River. The air was rowdy; diners laughed and cheered over bottles of alcohol, while a man in the center performed on the shamisen.

“After dinner, we’ll still have some time until the shops close,” he said, grabbing some menus before they sat down at a table for two. “In case there’s anything you wanted to purchase before we stop by the stables.”

“Me?”

“The pharmacies of the capital are well-stocked if Chiyo obaa-san needed anything,” Tobirama answered. “And with Hashirama’s wedding coming up, you might want to look around for a gift to the couple.”

“The Uchiha have already prepared something,” Madara said uneasily, avoiding eye contact.

“I thought they might have. But my brother would welcome a personal gift from you.” Tobirama said as he opened a menu to peruse. “He considers you his closest friend, after all.”

Though he made sure to keep his eyes on the menu, Tobirama caught Madara’s slight flinch at his words.

“There’s no pressure,” he continued. “Hashirama being the sap he is, I’m sure he’ll be touched by anything you get him.”

Madara leaned back, face pondering but sullen. He showed little interest in the menu and, instead, seemed to have fallen into a strange mood. 

A waitress came by their table with a pot of tea. “Ready to order?”

Tobirama looked over at Madara’s unopened menu. “I can go ahead and order for us if you don’t have any preferences.” 

The Uchiha nodded.

Tobirama went ahead. 

“A small drunken chicken. Two orders of Nama tofu. A steamed whole fish. Cucumber and sliced pork in chili oil. Shio kabocha and green bean shiraae as well. And osmanthus lotus root after dinner, please.”

“Okay. Will that be all?”

Tobirama paused, glancing at Madara who wasn’t paying attention and instead, still deep in thought. “Do you guys have inari sushi here?”

“Mmm…. it’s not normally on the menu, but we can make it special for you guys.”

“An order of that too.” The woman nodded, then took their menus and left.

The two sat in silence. Madara’s gaze was still fixed to the table, his head clearly occupied.

“Are you worried?” Tobirama asked, interrupting the stagnant silence between the two as he poured them both cups of tea. 

The Uchiha’s head snapped up. “Me? About what?”

“You’ve seemed deep in thought since I mentioned Hashirama’s wedding. Does something about it bother you?” 

Madara jolted, and Tobirama was careful to take note. _One time could be a fluke, but multiple times was a pattern._  

“No, I just…”

“... I just never thought it would happen. Hashirama always said he would never marry unless it was for love.” Madara turned to look out over the railing. “To make it to marrying age is difficult for a shinobi, but to do so and find love as well… it’s a big event.”

“It deserves a worthy present,” he added softly.

“Mm…” Tobirama assented. “Well, if you do wish to get him a meaningful present, a successful report at the end of this trip would be it.”

“Securing an agreement with the Hyuga?”

“It was Hashirama himself who insisted that you lead this visit. He wants you to be the one who closes this deal.”

“And you agreed to this?”

Tobirama paused. There was no point in lying when they both knew the answer. “No, I was against you being our representative.” 

“In the past, you’ve displayed little interest and experience in diplomatic affairs which don’t require warfare,” he expanded.

Madara’s mouth gradually tightened in anger at his words, but Tobirama continued. These were all objective facts. There was nothing to hide.

“And your personality doesn’t lend itself to the balancing act of negotiation, compromise, and leverage required in diplomacy. However, Hashirama insisted, so I agreed. But‒” Tobirama began. “As I thought about the negotiations more, it became apparent that there are a few advantages to having you lead this endeavor.”

 Madara stilled.

“The Hyuga are different from other clans we’ve invited to join Konoha. A lot of their fame and prowess come from their dojutsu. And that dojutsu, the Byakugan, has given them a clear identifier of what it means to be a Hyuga. They’ve constructed an especially strong sense of clan identity and have an inclination towards self-isolation. They will be no doubt be concerned with the ability to maintain their status, traditions and the secrecy of their kekkei genkei should they join Konoha. We need to convince them that their clan sovereignty will be respected.”

“Your clan and the Hyuga have similar profiles. A prestigious lineage and a famous kekkei genkei. In many ways, the Uchiha face the same issues the Hyuga do. So if you, the Uchiha clan leader, can reassure them when it comes to such concerns, they’re much more likely to be persuaded to accept our offer.”

There was a spiteful set to Madara’s mouth, and his eyes glowed dark.

“You want _me_ to reassure the Hyuga?” The man laughed bitterly, as if in disbelief.  

“Is that so unbelievable?”

Madara’s disbelief seemed to turn to anger. “On what grounds can I make such promises to the Hyuga?” He hissed. “If you want me to do so, why don’t you first address the concerns of the Uchiha. What have you done to assure me that _my_ clan won’t be mistreated and disrespected in the future?”

Tobirama crossed his arms. “In the months since the alliance, has there been reason for your clan to be concerned? The Uchiha is one of the original two founding clans. You’ve all been rewarded ample lands, and the prestige of the Uchiha name remains strong, inside and outside the village.”  

“And yet you don’t trust us!” Madara spat. “In your eyes, we aren’t equal founders of the Konoha. What was it you told Hashirama? _The Uchiha are unpredictable. Nii-sama, you’re the one who founded the settlement._ ”

Madara rose from his seat, voice rising as he gripped the sides of the table. The jolt overturned his cup, spilling tea across the wood.  

“And it shows. You give us land but no real power. You’ve set Hashirama up to be Hokage, while you yourself run Konoha’s administration. Is this the fate of the Uchiha? To be ruled by the Senju? I’ve tolerated it so far, but now you ask me to _lie_ to the Hyuga? I will do no such thing!”

“How dare you make such accusations, you ungrateful brat,” Tobirama snarled, standing up as well. “You blame me. But when have you volunteered to take a role in Konoha’s administration? Do you think I chose to help run this village? Do you know how many sleepless nights I’ve had since the alliance with Fire country? Dealing with paperwork and arranging meetings and putting up with the bureaucratic mess that—”

“Here are your—” The waitress interrupted them before realizing the tense air between the two men.“... cold dishes,” she trailed off.  

Madara glanced at the tray of plates she carried and looked away, grabbing his gunbai from where it had been leaning against the railing.

“Eat by yourself. I’m not hungry,” he said.

Madara promptly launched himself over the balcony and onto the streets below, startling a handful of citizens and horses.

“Madara!” Tobirama roared, but the man disappeared into the night.

He clenched his pair of chopsticks, fighting an urge to stab them through the table.

“Damn it!” He swore instead, running a hand through his hair in frustration. _What luck. For this to happen two days before they meet the Hyuga?_

 

 

 

There was a long pause, and the waitress blinked up at him.

“...So I guess only one bowl of rice then?”


End file.
